


let our hands speak for us

by leetheshark



Category: Birds of Prey (And the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn) (2020)
Genre: Cutting, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, handjobs, references to murder, wound care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:41:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25056379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leetheshark/pseuds/leetheshark
Summary: When one of Victor’s cuts gets infected, he asks Roman for help.
Relationships: Roman Sionis/Victor Zsasz
Comments: 10
Kudos: 104





	let our hands speak for us

It was just one, that night. One man strung up and skinned for Roman, and Roman was so giddy that he actually kissed Victor on the forehead before they started. So after, Victor was in the mood for something exciting. Instead of any of his usual spots—chest, neck, thighs—he chose the meatiest part of his left hip, just above his ass cheek. He had to stretch to reach it, right arm over his left side while he watched what he was doing in the mirror. In that position, he shouldn’t have been surprised when he accidentally cut too deep.

Victor did what he always does: he took some dental floss and a needle and tried to stitch himself up. He could still barely reach it, especially now that it stung whenever he moved, and it’s not like he could have asked Roman to do it—so he did a haphazard job, spilling blood all over his sheets, and went to bed.

He also shouldn’t have been surprised when the wound got infected.

Roman noticed it first. Victor had bled through his shirt—not for the first time, because that thing just wouldn’t fucking heal—when Roman grabbed the hem of Victor’s shirt, yanked it up to see the damage, and _shrieked._

Despite Victor’s begging otherwise, Roman made him go to the hospital. The E.R. doctor wasn’t pleased to find out the wound was weeks old, or that the only medical attention it had received was dental floss, or that Victor had done it to himself in the first place. Victor left with a bag of gauze dressings and prescriptions for antibiotics, both oral and topical, that Roman made his driver pick up on the way home.

So now, Victor has a problem.

He’s supposed to change the dressings once a day. He still can’t quite reach the spot, and he really doesn’t want to fuck up this time, because he knows Roman will be mad.

When Victor asks, Roman is surprisingly agreeable.

“I’m only doing this,” Roman says, already making a sour face as he sorts through the medical supplies dumped on Victor’s bed, “because if this kills you, I lose my best man. Got it?”

“Understood.” Victor sits on the edge of his bed, fresh from the shower and wearing only his pajama pants. Roman refused to do this in his own room, or anywhere else in the loft. It would be too messy. He kneels behind Victor, placing a hand on Victor’s shoulder to tilt him slightly forward.

“Ew,” Roman says. “This is _really_ fucking disgusting.”

“I know.”

“Honestly, Victor. What’s wrong with you?”

Victor shrugs. There are a lot of things wrong with him, but he knows that’s not really the point.

“Ugh.” Roman withdraws his hand from Victor’s shoulder. Behind him, Victor can hear Roman struggling to open the cardboard box that the antibiotic ointment came in. The rustling of cardboard stops, and a few seconds later, one of Roman’s hands returns to Victor’s shoulder to hold him in place. Two fingers of the other, slathered with ointment, rub over Victor’s wound. “Ew,” Roman says. “Ugh. Ew!”

“Sorry,” Victor says, even though Roman touching him is making it increasingly hard to think. He can count on one hand the number of times Roman’s touched his bare skin. Roman touches him often, but it’s almost always through his clothes—an arm draped over his shoulders through his shirt, a hand on his forearm through his sleeve.

“You should be.” Roman removes his hands from Victor’s body, and Victor briefly glances behind him to see Roman wiping the ointment off his fingers with a tissue. “Fucking disgusting.”

“Sorry.”

Roman fiddles with the wrapper of a pad of gauze, before he finally figures out how to open it and presses the gauze onto Victor’s wound. The ointment makes it stick while Roman opens the packet of medical tape. Victor shifts, trying not to distract Roman by moving too much. Roman touching him is making him increasingly uncomfortable in a way that has nothing to do with his wound. It doesn’t help that he’s not wearing underwear; he never does, and he’s starting to regret it.

Victor’s been hard in front of Roman before. Usually when there’s someone else and his knives involved. He doesn’t really care if Roman knows what gets him off; it’s kind of an open secret. The only ‘interest’ of his that he doesn’t want Roman to know about is, well, Roman. Since Roman almost never touches him, it isn’t usually a problem. 

Now, it’s a problem.

Roman tapes the gauze to Victor’s skin, then smooths his hand over everything to secure it down. Victor doesn’t expect him to do that—it hurts in a way that Victor likes more than he probably should—and he lets out half a moan before choking it back.

“Oh,” Roman says. He doesn’t elaborate. Victor expects Roman to call him fucking disgusting again, which he’s fully aware Roman would be justified in doing. He’s already coming to terms with having to find someone else to help him with his wound, when Roman puts his hand flat on Victor’s thigh and says, “You like this.”

“Yes,” Victor says, even though he doesn’t know which part Roman means, the tending to his wound or the touching.

Roman leans close, peering over Victor’s shoulder. If Victor nuzzled just inches to the left, he would be able to rub Roman’s slight scruff against his own. Roman traces his thumb along the hard line of Victor’s erection through his pajama pants, and Victor’s breath almost stops.

“Roman,” Victor chokes.

“Should I stop?”

“No.”

Roman uses his whole hand, now, curling fingers around Victor through the fabric.

“Didn’t think you were the considerate type,” Victor says.

“I’m not. But that doesn’t mean I don’t like to… touch, every once in a while.”

“Not complaining.” Victor tilts his head back, where it collides with Roman’s shoulder. “Feels good.”

“It fucking better.” Roman slips his hand under the waistband of Victor’s pajama pants. The touch of his hand, with no barrier at all between him and Victor, sends hot sparks through Victor’s body. “I don’t do this for just anyone.”

“Feels real fuckin’ good, boss,” Victor says, half to make Roman happy and half because it’s true. Roman wraps his hand around Victor and starts to stroke him fully, and Victor wonders briefly if he’s having a really weird drug trip or if Roman’s really jerking him off. He almost doesn’t care which one it is; it’s not like he expects a repeat performance either way. Roman will get him off, and maybe he’ll do something for Roman, and that’ll be it, because the idea of this becoming a regular thing is incomprehensible right now. Victor will go back to pining for Roman in secret and everything will go back to normal, except now Victor will be able to jerk off to the memory of Roman’s hand instead of just fantasies.

Victor can feel Roman’s breath on his neck as Roman starts to pump him harder. Roman is right to do it—Victor’s felt two seconds away from coming this whole time, but now he’s _really_ getting close. He slumps backward with a strangled moan as he comes in his pajama pants, thrusting into Roman’s hand until he feels too spent to do anything at all.

Roman wipes his hand on the thigh of Victor’s pants, then lets Victor lean on him while he catches his breath. Victor’s heartbeat is still a dull thud in his chest when he peels himself off of Roman. His first priority is to check whether Roman is hard. Roman is. “You want me to do something for you?” Victor asks.

“Tempting,” Roman says. “But until your infection heals, I don’t want you anywhere near my dick.”

Victor hopes his disappointment doesn’t show too much. “Oh.”

“But you can watch me, if you promise not to get any blood on my things—”

“I promise.”

Roman’s mouth curls into a smirk. “Change your pants. Meet me in my room.” He rubs Victor’s bare shoulder before leaving, and Victor flops down on his bed, making his wound sting with the impact of his landing. ‘Until your infection heals,’ Roman said. Does that mean he’ll let Victor near his dick after? Victor crawls out of bed and changes into clean pants, then checks his dressings for leaking blood in the mirror.

So far so good.

He follows after Roman.


End file.
